Dear Sammy
by FeathersMcStrange
Summary: He started the letter several times before he got it right. But did he really get it right? How could he have. There is no right way to say goodbye to your baby brother. Yet here was Dean, writing words on a tearstained page, hoping it would be enough.
1. Chapter 1

**So, I sat down intending to write another The Road So Far drabble, and out came this. I don't know why, but I hope you like it.**

**Dean is writing a letter to Sam, the night before he is scheduled to die in season three. **

**Planning on making it a three part piece, with Sam's reading the letter and then after Dean gets back from Hell. Do you want to see the rest of it?**

**Please review, let me know what you think!**

**FeathersMcStrange**

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_Dear Sammich,_

_Well, it would appear I've finally bit it-_

Crumple, throw.

When Sam read this, he would have just died. It would be no time for lighthearted jokes.

_Dear Sam,_

_You have to let me go. There's nothing you can do-_

Crumple, throw.

He couldn't be that harsh. No way no how. Not when Big Brother wouldn't be there to comfort him when the blunt words ended up hurting so bad he started to cry.

_Dear Sammy,_

_I love you-_

Crumple, throw.

That wasn't it either. While writing it the way their father would have would surely make Sam burst into tears, an open declaration like that would do just the same.

_Sammy_,

_I know you're hurting. I'm gone and believe me, I would know better than most about how much it sucks to lose your brother. Please, I'm begging you little brother, don't be angry at me for doing this. You died right in front of me, in my arms, and I couldn't handle it. But you're stronger than me, Sammy, and you can make it. Bobby will help, I know he will, and you'll be okay._

_You have to be okay. If you can't bring yourself to do it for you, do it for me. Live the life I won't. Take care of yourself. _

_All of my life, my job has been 'take care of Sammy'. 'Look after Sammy'. 'Keep Sammy safe'. I know that a lot of the time you think I resent you for that, but I don't. God, kiddo, I don't hate you. Especially not for that._

_I can remember when I was little, and we were moving all around the country and staying in motel rooms. You were the sweetest little kid, all big brown eyes and floppy hair. We'd be sitting in the back seat, and you'd climb up into my lap and fall asleep. Just right there, all curled up and tiny._

_And then something happened. You grew up. You weren't a little baby who could fall asleep with my jacket as a blanket. But every time I look at you, I still see that baby. Your eyes, Sammy, your eyes have stayed the same._

_Another thing from when we were kids comes to mind. You used to have nightmares - still do, and don't think I haven't noticed - and when you woke up Dad could never get you back to sleep. You'd be cryin' and cryin' and you wouldn't stop until I picked you up and held you. 'De' you would say (That's what you called me. De. Still do when you're out of it.) and I would ask you what was the matter. You'd smile at me, and tell me that nothing was the matter anymore. As long as De was around, nothing could hurt you. I protected you._

_That's what I'm doing with the Deal. Protecting you._

_I know that I don't have the right to ask you for anything, I've already left you all alone, but listen to me._

_Don't cry over me Sammy._

_Dear God, don't you cry. Because if you cry, wherever I am (Hell or wherever) I will know. I always know. And it's going to suck twice as bad for both of us because for the first time I won't be able to be there to make it all better again._

_Baby brother, please don't cry._

_I guess seeing as this is the last time I'm ever going to talk/write to you, I better say it. I love you, Sammy. There. I said it. Trust you to turn me into a chick, Sam. But you needed to hear it, and I needed to say it. Write it. Whatever. Either way, I mean it. I really do. I'm not joking, or being sarcastic. I. Love. You. _

_I'm not doing it, giving up my life, because it's my job (even though it is). I'm not doing it because it's my responsibility (even though it is). I'm not doing it because it's some kind of obligation (even though it is)._

_I'm doing it because I love you. When it all gets too hard, remember that, okay? When you feel like the world is closing in on you, and something's crushing your heart in a vice, and it hurts so bad you can't breathe, remember why I did this._

_So, I guess this is goodbye, isn't it? Goodbye, Sammy. It sounds so strange. You never got to say goodbye, that day in Cold Oak. At least I get that._

_The glovebox in the Impala is where you'll find this, though I suppose you already know that, don't you? Anyway, goodbye, good luck, and take care of yourself. _

_Everything will be okay, Sammy. I promise. It's all gonna be okay._

_Love,_

_Dean_


	2. Chapter 2

**Man, I am delighted to see the response to this! I am so flattered you guys!**

**I think this needs a tissue warning... So here: TISSUE WARNING!**

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**StrawberryLaceSuicide: Well then, wish granted! Here's more!**

**PunkVampy: Aww, thanks Thing Two! I understand, I was crying almost the whole way through writing it. **

**miss tangerineleaf: Like I told PunkVampy, I cried writing it. Thank you so much! I will absolutely make this longer! Forums? *is confused***

**blue daisies: Thank you! I will for sure continue it!**

**PutMoneyInThyPurse: Thank you, I'm glad I got that across! Here is more for ya!**

**sammysdimples: It was sad, I know, it really was. Thank you!**

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Sam was numb, except for the hot, intense, overwhelming agony burning a whole inside his chest. Aside from a brief, uncontrollable stint right when it had happened, he hadn't shed a tear since Dean had died. His fingers were curled tightly around the steering wheel of the Impala, and there was no sound but the thrum of the wheels on the wet pavement accompanying time to Sam's heartbeat.

Dean was gone.

That was all he could think.

Every breath he took was a reminder that Dean would never breathe again.

Every beat of his heart was a brutal acknowledgment of the fact that Dean's pulse was long stopped.

Every time he blinked, he saw Dean's empty, lifeless eyes.

Leaning across the bench seat, Sam popped open the glove compartment and fished around for a roadmap. A white envelope fluttered to the floor as he pulled out the map. Frowning, he pulled the car over to the side of the road. Picking it up off the meticulously cared for carpet, Sam flipped it over.

_Sammy _was written on it in his brother's careful scrawl.

With trembling fingers, Sam peeled open the flap of the envelope and removed the sheet of paper inside. He unfolded it, breath hitching when he saw the first line.

_Sammy_,

It was so hard to imagine that nobody would call him that again. Even if they wanted to, he wouldn't let them. 'Sammy' was Dean's name for him, Dean's and no one else's.

_I know you're hurting. I'm gone and believe me, I would know better than most about how much it sucks to lose your brother. Please, I'm begging you little brother, don't be angry at me for_ _doing this._

Angry? No, Sam wasn't angry. He was... _destroyed. _And he didn't understand. Why had Dean done this? Nobody was worth Dean dying for, going to Hell for, especially not Sam.

_You died right in front of me, in my arms, and I couldn't handle it. But you're stronger than me, Sammy, and you can make it. Bobby will help, I know he will, and you'll be okay._

That wasn't true either. Sam wasn't stronger, he never had been and never would be. Dean was the strong one. Dean was his rock. And now that his rock was gone, it was like he was sinking. Drowning.

_You have to be okay. If you can't bring yourself to do it for you, do it for me. Live the life I won't. Take care of yourself._

But how was he supposed to do that? He didn't know how. Not when all he knew how to do was watch Dean's back. He took care of Dean, Dean took care of him. He didn't know what to do now that it was only him.

_All of my life, my job has been 'take care of Sammy'. 'Look after Sammy'. 'Keep Sammy safe'. I know that a lot of the time you think I resent you for that, but I don't. God, kiddo, I don't hate you. Especially not for that._

Well he should have. Sam had taken his mother, his childhood, any chance he had of being normal, and now his life.

_I can remember when I was little, and we were moving all around the country and staying in motel rooms. You were the sweetest little kid, all big brown eyes and floppy hair. We'd be sitting in the back seat, and you'd climb up into my lap and fall asleep. Just right there, all curled up and tiny._

Some of his first memories were of being half asleep in his big brother's lap, smelling gunpowder, oil, and leather and clutching a fistful of his t-shirt. He never felt safer, happier than he did when he was little and Dean held him. Sam's home wasn't a place at all, it was a person. He didn't have a home anymore...

_And then something happened. You grew up. You weren't a little baby who could fall asleep with my jacket as a blanket. But every time I look at you, I still see that baby. Your eyes, Sammy, your eyes have stayed the same._

There was a stinging sensation behind those selfsame eyes, but no tears fell. Sam sniffed softly, then continued reading the letters.

_Another thing from when we were kids comes to mind. You used to have nightmares - still do, and don't think I haven't noticed - and when you woke up Dad could never get you back to sleep. You'd be cryin' and cryin' and you wouldn't stop until I picked you up and held you. 'De' you would say (That's what you called me. De. Still do when you're out of it.) and I would ask you what was the matter. You'd smile at me, and tell me that nothing was the matter anymore. As long as De was around, nothing could hurt you. I protected you._

_That's what I'm doing with the Deal. Protecting you._

"I wish you hadn't, Dean. I wish... I w-wish..."

_I know that I don't have the right to ask you for anything, I've already left you all alone, but listen to me._

_Don't cry over me Sammy._

Sam pressed a hand over his mouth, stifling a whimper. Dean was going to die when he wrote this letter, and instead of worrying about himself he was worrying about Sam being upset.

_Dear God, don't you cry. Because if you cry, wherever I am (Hell or wherever) I will know. I always know. And it's going to suck twice as bad for both of us because for the first time I won't be able to be there to make it all better again._

_Baby brother, please don't cry._

Then Sam completely lost it, breaking down into great, gasping sobs. The paper crinkled a little he was holding it so tight. His tears pattered down onto the page, slightly blurring the words. 'Baby brother'. He hadn't been called that... God, in years. Memories flooded his mind, of a gentle, loving smile, and a soft, reassuring voice. An embrace that sheltered him from the world, when he was so small that everyone seemed to be a giant, and everything was scary.

_I guess seeing as this is the last time I'm ever going to talk/write to you, I better say it. I love you, Sammy. There. I said it. Trust you to turn me into a chick, Sam. But you needed to hear it, and I needed to say it. Write it. Whatever. Either way, I mean it. I really do. I'm not joking, or being sarcastic. I. Love. You._

His cries grew louder, Sam's entire body shuddering with the force of his grief. His brother was gone. Dean was gone. The man who had been brother, father, mother, best friend, protecter... everything to him was gone.

Dean had...

Dean had loved him. Dean had _loved him._ And Dean was _gone._

_I'm not doing it, giving up my life, because it's my job (even though it is). I'm not doing it because it's my responsibility (even though it is). I'm not doing it because it's some kind of obligation (even though it is)._

_I'm doing it because I love you. When it all gets too hard, remember that, okay? When you feel like the world is closing in on you, and something's crushing your heart in a vice, and it hurts so bad you can't breathe, remember why I did this._

"I'm sorry," Sam wept, talking to a brother who couldn't hear him. He screwed his eyes tight shut, back heaving as he gasped for breath. Slumping to the side, Sam felt something beneath his fingers. The leather jacket. Dean's leather jacket. The jacket that had been his blanket when he was four years old. The jacket that still smelled like gunpowder, oil, and leather.

His hand curled around the jacket, sobbing. Sam didn't understand how anything could possibly hurt this much without killing him. The pain was sinking it's razor claws into his heart, tearing at him, leaving him breathless.

_So, I guess this is goodbye, isn't it? Goodbye, Sammy. It sounds so strange. You never got to say goodbye, that day in Cold Oak. At least I get that._

_The glovebox in the Impala is where you'll find this, though I suppose you already know that, don't you? Anyway, goodbye, good luck, and take care of yourself._

_Everything will be okay, Sammy. I promise. It's all gonna be okay._

_Love,_

_Dean_

_Love, Dean. Love, Dean. Love, Dean._

Sam read the words over and over again, unable to accept that this would be the last thing he would ever hear from his big brother.

_Love, Dean. Love, Dean. Love, Dean._

For hours he just laid there on the front seat of the Impala, crying harder than he had ever cried before. It hurt so _badly._ He didn't know what to do. There was nothing he _could_ do, but shudder on the seat, Dean's jacket and the letter clutched to his chest, mourning the loss of his brother.

_Love, Dean._

_Love, Dean._

_Love, _

_Dean._


End file.
